


Strangely Mournful

by verushka70



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/verushka70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alaric frowns and stiffens. He meets Damon’s gaze, eyes narrowing.</p>
<p>“Ric,” Damon begins. “I’m not incapable of remorse.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangely Mournful

**Author's Note:**

> Set between the Damon/Alaric scene in the cave in S03E07 Ghost World, and the Damon/Alaric/Elena scene at the beginning of S03e08 Ordinary People.

“This is... amazing.” Alaric turns, a very slow spin, all the while holding the lantern up to the cave walls that surround him.

“Well, if it’s not a weapon, what is it?” Damon asks impatiently, pressing against the uninvited barrier.

“Some kind of scenes or a story. This is. . . must be pre-Columbian, older than the settlement of Mystic Falls. We – I, uh, need to come back. With more lights. And a camera.” His voice is hushed, respectful, the impatient edge gone.

“We, huh?” Damon pounces on Alaric’s slip of tongue. “See? I wasn’t just yanking your chain.”

“Shut up, Damon,” Alaric says, but it has an automatic quality to it. He holds the lantern up a bit higher to examine something more closely. Then he shakes his head slowly, brings the lantern down, and walks toward Damon.

He squeezes past Damon, trying to avoid touching him.

Damon grabs his upper arm as he passes, causing Ric to drop his lantern. Alaric frowns and stiffens. He meets Damon’s gaze, eyes narrowing.

“Ric,” Damon begins. “I’m not incapable of remorse.”

But it’s like eating glass. It comes out with a sharp edge; it is all he can do not to grit his teeth. Apparently he’s not meant to say these things unless certain death awaits. Or he’s saying it to Elena. Or something. He watches Alaric clench his jaw and feels the muscles of Ric’s arm tense in his grasp.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ric retorts. “You killed me; you’re a dick; end of story.” He yanks his arm to take it back, but Damon has a vampire’s grip on it and doesn’t let go.

“I just don’t–” Damon swallows. “–say it.” It’s getting a bit easier to speak. Maybe because he’s not actually saying he’s sorry.

“Obviously,” Alaric replies coldly. He wrests his arm out of Damon’s grasp. This time, Damon lets him.

But he puts both his hands on either side of Alaric’s head, on the cold, moist walls.

“I can show you,” he says, looking Ric in the eye.

Still feels like he has sand in his mouth as he speaks. It’s so much easier to do things than to say them.

Alaric’s eyes are dark in the lantern light shining up from their feet. “You can’t compel me, Damon. I’m on vervain.”

Damon sighs, disgusted. “I wasn’t trying to.”

But Alaric hasn’t moved away. Yet. Slowly, so slowly, Damon draws nearer to Ric, until he can press his cheek against Alaric’s.

Alaric turns his face away from the contact.

“Cut it out,” he says, grabbing Damon’s shoulders and pushing them away. His voice trembles just slightly on the last word. Exertion, or emotion? Damon doesn’t know. But he is as immovable as stone for all Ric’s (human) strength.

“Just–” Damon says, then stops, frustrated. Oh, fuck it.

He nuzzles Ric’s exposed neck because it begs to be: it’s warm, so very warm. He grabs Ric’s chin, forces Ric’s mouth to meet his own. Ric’s lips under his are pliant. His body, pinned by Damon’s, is anything but.

Ric’s lips part to form words, but before he can, the tip of Damon’s tongue steals between Ric’s lips. He tastes bitter coffee, stiff bourbon, oak casks. He inhales Ric’s hot breath. Ric twists his mouth away from Damon's -- ice cold kisses, Damon thinks: blood always makes him warm, but he last had some hours ago.

His hands slip down Ric’s chest to his belt with vampiric speed; he unbuckles it.

Ric tries to fight. He’s too (human) slow. Damon grabs and holds his wrists, forces them down alongside his thighs. Pressed heavily up against him, Damon slides down, lets Ric feel his slow friction all the way down. On his knees, still holding Ric’s wrists, Damon smells the musky scent beneath the denim, presses his forehead against the hardening flesh. Hears Ric’s femoral pulses accelerating.

“Get up,” Ric growls, trying to yank his hands back, to push Damon’s head away. “Damon–”

He frees Ric’s wrists only long enough to yank his pants open and expose his cock. Then he grabs them again, wrestling them down beside Ric’s thighs. If Ric would just let him–

Ric’s wrists tense and twist, muscles bunching. Damon slowly trails his lips up the velvet shaft until, finally at the head, he sucks Ric in to the hilt: hot, musky, salty. Ric stiffens. Damon pulls back, tightening his lips and teeth. Then he sucks Ric back in again, rough.

“Oh, fuck.” Ric’s voice is strangely mournful.

Damon sees his moment, then, and runs with it. He alternates fast, aggressive sucking with artful embellishments: swirls of his tongue at the tip, teeth scraping lightly at just the right time and at just the right spot. He keeps a tight suction on Ric, whose femoral pulses throb in his ears. His wrists go slack in Damon’s hands. Finally.

His hands slide from Ric’s wrists to the backs of his thighs for better leverage. He moves harder and faster, dimly aware that the hot hands in his hair – searing, human heat – are anything but protesting and pushing him away, now. Ric’s hips rock, thrusting rhythmically into Damon’s mouth.

When Ric's thighs start to quiver, when his sweat-wet hands hold Damon down by the back of his neck, Damon knows it’s inevitable. Ric’s thrusts hit the back of his throat. They would choke him if he had to breathe.

But he’s not human. He doesn’t need to breathe. He doesn’t resist. The first hot spurts fill his throat. He starts swallowing. Orgasm wrenches strangled moans from Alaric.

He feels a slight acidic burn with each swallow. Must be the vervain. Duly noted. Ric’s spurts come weaker and farther apart until they stop and he starts to soften. Damon gives Ric one slow, tight, final suck and Ric twitches, half-crumpled against the damp stone wall of the cave, breathless.

Damon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He feels warm, despite the slight burning sensation, almost as sated as if he’d drunk Ric’s blood. He thinks he’d like to, some time – except without the vervain. Or compelling Ric. He still hears Ric’s femoral pulses, slowing down now.

“Still think I’m incapable of remorse?” he asks quietly, looking up at Alaric.

“I still think,” Ric pants, not meeting his eyes, “–you’re a dick.”

“A dick on his knees with your come in his mouth.” The smart-ass reply is out before Damon even realizes it.

Alaric looks at him; their gazes lock. Ric’s eyes are dark, lost, sad. For a split-second, chaotic emotions chase each other across his face, in such quick succession, Damon can’t tell which prevails.

Then his head snaps back with the force of Ric’s punch and he lands hard on his ass on the cold, damp stone.

He reaches up and feels his dislocated jaw and split, bleeding lip. Almost immediately, though, his bones move to re-align; bleeding stops, tissues knit. The itch in his healing flesh spikes a sudden craving for blood.

Ric fastens his pants and buckles his belt, carefully not looking at Damon.

“Oh, you’ll come around,” Damon sighs, getting to his feet.

“Fuck you.” Ric picks up his dropped lantern.

“Any time,” Damon replies, one eyebrow going down, one corner of his lips curling up.

“I’m leaving.” Alaric turns to go. Over his shoulder he adds, “I’ll be back to investigate this, whatever it is. Don’t be here when I get back. Find someone else to harass.” He strides away, back towards the old Lockwood cellar.

“I can help,” Damon calls after him, though he probably can’t.

There is no reply. The swift retreat of Ric’s fading footsteps echoes in the cave passages.

“Don’t have anyone else to harass, anyway,” Damon mutters to the now-empty cave. “Except Elena.”

He picks up his lantern. After a last look around, he turns and goes back the way they came.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 8, 2011 to the Porn Battle, for the prompt _Damon/Alaric- Hot Breath and Ice Cold Kisses_ by [elenarain](http://elenarain.livejournal.com/).


End file.
